the night has a thousand saxaphones

I got NOTHING done this weekend. Less than nothing. I've never accomplished so little on a weekend. I am so behind on EVERYTHING. Why am I a slug who accomplishes nothing?

I babbled in dodger_winslow 's journal, before I saw the post asking people not to talk about John's parenting anymore, so I feel a bit lousy for that. But I do still find myself fascinated and invested in fandom discussions of John's parenting, even if I do tie myself up in knots with the complexity of his character.

I watched The Lives Of Others, that big foreign-language winner last year, about the Stasi agent in early-eighties Eastern Germany. I watched it mostly because of Abigail Nussbaum's spoilery review here (She is my favorite reviewer online). I really have nothing I can possibly add- it's an incredible, amazing, sparse, painful, beautiful movie.

So, you know that drop-out speech Mitt Romney gave? You know how it was horrifically insulting, basically straight-up saying that voting Democrat was handing the country to terrorists? And then blabbling about how it's the evil sluts and homos that are going to ruin this country? And how watching that speech pretty much made you want to put your fist through his face? Well, Jon Stewart has fun with that speech here. Thank God there's a way to laugh at stuff like this, or I would be crying.

Random note from SPN 3x10:

You wanna talk about charity? We got your Sweet Charity right here! Over $19,000 raised to support those in the industry affected by the writers strike. Can I get a rousing chant of fans rule! here please?

Plus, now I get to make marinarusalka  knit for me. *whipcrack* knit, ho, knit! Seriously, we've discussed my goodie and it's going to be so soft and pretty. *excited*

In other news, Obama trounces Clinton in SC. I think trouncing is just about the only possible word for that. Yaay! (Yes, I said Obama trounces Clinton, not Obama trounces Hillary. I am on a little campaign right now because I am tired of all the other candidates being called by her last name but the woman just gets to be "Hillary." I know there's an element of Bill and name confusion, but it still rubs me the wrong way and I hope it changes.)

Somebody *cough*Dustin*cough* left the phone off the hook last night, any my cell still doesn't really work in this apartment, so I didn't get to make any precinct calls. The Obama campaign only got back to me late last night anyway, and at this rate I won't even have time to make one round of calls on my precinct. Well, I signed up a full two weeks ago, so I can't feel too bad about that, and I'll do what I can.

Heath Ledger's death has been just... lingering in my mind. Obits on my reader, comments at work, posts on my flist. It's not going away, and on the flist at least it's so much... sadder and more sincere than celebrity-rubbernecking usually is.

I think (and I keep feeling the urge to say "we" here, even though I obviously can speak only for myself) that, at least in slashy corners of fandom, our reaction has a lot to do with Brokeback. I mean, as a fan, there are celebrities and celebrities, you know? There are celebrities and my celebrities. The ones who's characters you've read fic about, or written fic about, or put on headers and wallpapers, or dressed up as, or bought posters of, or any of those fannish ways we attach and appropriate. I think for a lot of us in slash, Brokeback Mountain took Heath Ledger out of "Hollywood celebrities" and made him one of ours.

I've only been fannish a few years. I've seen a lot of celebrities die, but never one of mine. I think that explains why this feels a lot less like another celebrity death, and a lot more like the way it felt to Carl Sagan or Isaac Asimov. They were mine too.

Naturally, Fred Phelps' people are picketing his funeral. I've expended so much outrage on Fred Phelps over the course of my life that I think I just don't have any left. I hope Heath's friends and family are shielded from their ugliness as much as possible.